The Drake Diamonds: His Ballerina Bride. Teri Wilson

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СКАЧАТЬ They followed her to the subway station. They even followed her to her volunteer shifts at the animal shelter. It was beyond unnerving. Ophelia lived in fear of losing her balance and being photographed facedown on the pavement. She knew that was what the photographers were waiting for. A disastrous stumble. A breakdown. An image that showed how far she’d fallen since her glory days as a promising ballerina. Something that would make the readers cry for her. With her.

      She was determined not to give it to them. She’d lost Artem. And now she was losing the diamond. She refused to lose her dignity. It was all she had left.

      But once news of the auction broke, the mob outside her door vanished. Overnight, she became yesterday’s news.

      She knew she should be grateful. Or at the very least, relieved. But it was difficult to feel anything but regret as days passed without so much as a word from Artem. Or even a glimpse of him.

      He hadn’t set foot inside Drake Diamonds since that awful Monday morning in the conference room. Three weeks of silence. Twenty-one days of absence that weighed on her heavier than a fur blanket.

      Even on the lonely Friday morning when the armed guards from Sotheby’s showed up to remove the Drake Diamond from its display case on the sales floor, Artem had been conspicuously absent. Ophelia couldn’t bring herself to watch.

      Not until the day of the auction did she finally come to accept that not only was Artem actually going through with the sale of the diamond, but he might never return to Drake Diamonds. She might never see him again. Which was for the best, really. Absolutely it was. She wasn’t sure why the prospect made her feel so empty inside.

      Because you’re in love with him.

      No.

      No, she wasn’t. She was in love with the way he’d made her feel. That was different, wasn’t it? It had to be. Because she couldn’t be in love. With anyone. Least of all, Artem Drake.

      The auction was set to begin at noon sharp, and the store had set up an enormous television screen in the ground level showroom. Champagne was being served, along with platters of Drake-blue petits fours and rock candy in the shape of emerald cut diamonds. It was a goodbye party of sorts, and half of Manhattan had shown up.

      Ophelia shut herself in her tiny office and tried to pretend it was a regular workday. Her desk was covered in piles of half-drawn sketches for the new collection she was designing to mirror the art deco motif of the Plaza. But losing herself in her work didn’t even help, because Artem’s absence was there, too. The memory of their night together lived in the glittering swirl of the pavé brooch she’d finally finished. The unbroken pattern of the diamonds mirrored the whirl of a midnight snowfall, and the inlaid amethysts were as pale pink as her ballet shoes.

      Would it always be this way? Was she destined to live in the past? In the grainy black-and-white photos of her grandmother’s tiara and in the jewels that told the story of the night she’d made what had probably been the biggest mistake of her life?

      Her fingertips tingled and the pencil slipped out of her hand. She tore the sheet of paper from her sketchpad and crumpled it in a ball, but she couldn’t even manage to do that properly. It fell to the floor.

      Ophelia sat staring at it, and reality hit her. Hard and fast. This was her present. Right here. This moment. Dropping things. Feeling frustrated. Missing someone.

      It would also be her future. Her future wouldn’t be one of diamonds and dancing or making love while a snowstorm raged against the windows of Artem’s penthouse in the sky. It wouldn’t be ballet or music or the velvet hope of a darkened theater. Her future would be moments just like this one.

      She should never have slept with him.

      She’d done what she’d set out to do. She was a jewelry designer at the most prestigious diamond company in North America, if not the world. She’d reinvented herself.

      And still, somehow, it wasn’t enough.

      * * *

      Artem slipped out of Sotheby’s once the bids exceeded twenty million dollars, the sum total of the Drake Diamonds deficit, thanks to dear old dad and his worthless Australian mine.

      Ophelia’s ballerina diamonds had brought in close to five million in under a month, which was remarkable. Sometimes Artem wondered if it would have been enough. If they’d only had more time.

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